


Bop Bop Baby

by Anuna



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Boy Bands, Coulson's Hawaiian shirt gets a tag, Crack, F/M, IDK but i had fun, Not to be taken seriously, Prompt Fill, Romance, SHIELD has a Prank Fund, SHIELD people know how to party, Sex, Sitwell gets all the kisses, Tony gets a theme song, badass longcoat gets a tag, multiple prompts, music commentary, my head is a box full of cats, tongue-in-cheek boy bands appreciation, what even is this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2013-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-29 09:39:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/685512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anuna/pseuds/Anuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint wasn't the reckless, impulsive type, but he, like everyone else living and breathing, did have a weakness. His consisted of ridiculous, prank flavored, possibly embarrassing dares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bop Bop Baby

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the be-compromised valentine's day mini promptathon, filling several prompts: SHIELD valentine's day tradition, Natasha appreciating Clint's imperfect body, Clint getting drunk. 
> 
> Real inspiration for this happened during one of the promptathon chats - someone mentioned "what if Clint had to sing boyband songs to Natasha" and booom. This happened. It was too much fun to pass it up, even if it means I'll lose my credibility as a serious author. All the cookies for everyone who catches all the boyband references (isn't my knowledge in that department just _scary_ ); and no I'm not a teenage girl any more, but I used to be and I squeed over those bands and songs, and admit it, you did too. Unless you walked around in Nirvana T shirts, which is okay as well. Also, I'd like to add that I _love_ Pink Floyd and appreciate the musical talent of Bob Dylan. 
> 
>  
> 
> It should be mentioned that no boy bands and no people with the last name Stark were harmed during the production of this fic. (My CDs did suffer.) Beta read by the lovely shenshen77; also a huge thank you to lovely [ashen_key](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ashen_key/pseuds/ashen_key) who listened to me blab about this day in and day out. 
> 
>  
> 
> I hope you'll have fun reading just as I had fun writing this. I love comments, so please let me know what you thought!! 
> 
>  
> 
> 'Nuna

“What did you just say?” Clint asked, and his voice caused the people present at the table to look up from their newspaper, food and tablet. Tony stood near the stove, wearing an apron and a superior expression, looking at Clint. 

“I said that you're not romantic enough for this holiday,” it was half serious, but Tony was waving a challenge banner right in Clint's face. Steve looked from one to other and folded the newspaper he was reading. Bruce pushed his glasses up his nose, still holding his tablet computer in, what seemed, best intention to ignore another one of Tony's _moments_. Thor took another sip of his coffee and looked at Steve, remaining quiet, although he obviously wanted to ask something. 

“I'm not?” Clint asked with a definite dare in his voice. Bruce chuckled, lowering his tablet – holding hand. Sometimes these two men only looked adult and acted like nine year olds. 

“I wouldn't go there, Stark,” Bruce said benevolently, but Tony wasn't a person who'd back down from a challenge. Especially one he was issuing. 

And neither was Clint. 

Tony puffed his chest and crossed his arms, and actually looked ridiculous in his cooking outfit, but ask him if he was bothered. He could wear an old bag and pull off that superior attitude. “Oh I am sure you would do something like getting a girl some flowers -”

“I did get flowers for girls, Stark,” Clint said, looking mostly amused. “Lots of girls, in fact,” he added, and Steve chuckled. 

“Hmph,” Tony snorted, “conveniently, that's something you could give in private. Out of sight. I'd like to see you do something flashy and showy -”

“You mean, something you would do?” Clint shot back and Steve let out a short laugh this time. Tony glared at Steve, then turned back to Clint. 

“Hey, Stark, you asked for it,” Steve said. 

“Doing something I would do would require a certain level of class,” Tony said defiantly, turning back to the awesomest pancakes that were ever awesomed. Or so he claimed. (Bruce had to admit, Tony made pretty good pancakes. And waffles. And just about any comfort food one could think of.)

“Ouch,” Steve said, looking at Clint. Clint shot him a toothy, over-the-top grin. It was okay, though, it was all good natured fun. 

“What I am saying,” Tony begun again, “is that you would never indulge in a public display of affection, which makes you officially unromantic.”

“When did _you_ become a person who decides what's romantic?” Clint asked. Bruce was chuckling because someone was questioning Tony on his right to determine How Things Worked. Which Tony sometimes needed. 

“What does this mean?” Thor finally decided to speak up. “Being romantic?”

“Don't you have that on Asgard, Son of Odin? Courting ladies and making them swoon? Or do you just growl at them loudly and sweep them off their feet?” Tony asked and Thor grinned benevolently, and it was just amazing how he almost never took offense when Tony was like this. 

“Tony,” Bruce cleared his throat, “I am pretty sure ladies there and here are quite capable of growling back. Or shouting, for that matter. Should we ask Pepper how it's done?” 

Tony looked at Bruce and muttered something that sounded nearly like _traitor_. 

“We do court our ladies,” Thor said. “With utmost respect for their character, virtue and strength,” he added. “Do you not do that, friend Barton?” 

“Oh we do,” Clint answered quizzically. “In various interesting ways,” he added. 

“So what is this Valentine's day you are discussing? I am assuming it has something to do with courting,” Thor continued, interested as he always was in everything Midgardian. What Bruce enjoyed the most about him was the lack of preconceived judgment, in fact it seemed that Thor did his best to keep his mind open and prejudices in check. He once mentioned making a mistake in that regard and Bruce sensed it was a topic best avoided. 

“St. Valentine's day is a celebration of romance -,” Steve leaned slightly forward, his mouth quirking up a little. It had to be a relief to be able to explain one of these things to Thor, instead of being a stranger in the world that was supposed to be his. “Of love, being in love, dating someone....”

“Telling them you like them, buying gifts -” Bruce added. 

“Consumerist culture loves gifts, mind you,” Clint added. Thor regarded him thoughtfully. “While it's nice to give gifts as token of affection, it's.... one of those times when people want to sell, earn, spend -”

“Ah,” Thor nodded cheerfully. He seemed to enjoy learning about cultures and relating to what he knew of his own. “Combining tradition and profit is always a good strategy.” 

“Exactly!” Tony said approvingly. “The whole point of it all is ¸ _expressing_ affection for that special someone,” Tony arched an eyebrow at Clint. While Clint and Natasha didn't bother hiding their in-love status, they didn't flaunt it either. They reminded Bruce of a long time, comfortably married couple. 

“Stark, just drop it,” Clint said. 

“Oh dream on. I want to see if you have the guts to act on your epic feelings,” Tony replied stubbornly. “Seriously, what is it with the two of you? It's not like you're not completely obvious -”

“It's called privacy, Tony,” Bruce teased. 

“Thank you, dear Doctor,” Clint smirked. Bruce nodded. 

Tony huffed and narrowed his eyes at Clint.

Then he said four words people usually didn't speak very lightly. 

“ _I dare you_ , Barton,” was what he said. 

“You _dare_ me?” Clint asked, slowly getting up from his chair and Bruce knew things took a turn into the realm of uncertain outcomes. “Did I hear you right? You dare me?”

“Oh yes, Mighty Chicken, _I dare you_ ,” Tony affirmed. May it never be said that Tony Stark allowed someone to intimidate him. “I dare you to do something public and sweet and sweep Romanoff off her feet. If that's possible.” 

Clint narrowed his eyes at Tony. That last line was a bit of a low blow. 

“I am so very glad we're not in a western movie right now,” Bruce observed. 

“What would you have me do?” Clint raised his chin a little and took a step closer to Tony. “What would be grand enough in your expert opinion?”

Tony contemplated Clint's question for a little while. 

“I know,” he announced then, his index finger shooting into the air. Steve's eyebrows rose and Bruce tried not to smirk so obviously. Thor looked mostly excited. “Sing to her. In public. How about that famous SHIELD karaoke bar? Isn't that a thing? No wait, I know, I know. I dare you to be man enough and sing her boyband songs,” Tony said, looking utterly pleased with himself. 

Bruce closed his eyes and sighed. Was Tony expecting Clint to decline?

Clint wasn't the reckless, impulsive type, but he, like everyone else living and breathing, did have a weakness. His consisted of ridiculous, prank flavored, possibly embarrassing dares. 

“Seriously, Stark, is that your idea of romantic?” Clint asked. 

“I don't think this is about romance anymore,” Bruce wisely observed, followed by Steve asking, 

“What is a boy band?” 

But nobody replied. Steve and Thor shared a look and a shrug. 

“Those are my terms, Barton. Can you possibly pull that one off?”

Clint's smirk was wide, kind of predatory and not very nice. Bruce suddenly felt excited. It was a bit strange, since he wasn't the type who set up pranks, he usually observed them unfold from a far corner. For some reason and with these men he felt at the center of things now.

“If I pull that one off, Stark, you'll be dancing Macarena right after I leave the stage.”

Tony mimicked Clint's smirk. 

“Fine,” he said.

“Oh good God,” Bruce sighed, but that kid inside of him, kid he'd once been was clapping his hands excitedly. 

“What is this Macarena you're speaking of?” Thor asked. 

 

*

“You,” Bruce stated, entering Clint's apartment with Steve and Thor following him, “can't do a boy band act without a band.” 

Clint looked up from the mission report he was reviewing and frowned. This was a bit unusual, even in Stark Tower. “What?” he asked, confused by three matching grins in front of him. 

“Exactly what I just said,” Bruce glanced at Steve. “There is no band without a band.”

“I agree, it doesn't make much sense,” Steve added and Thor nodded in agreement. 

“I am going to do karaoke,” Clint explained, because karaoke party was the usual think for SHIELD agents on any given holiday and Clint enjoyed it. However three other men were looking at him expectantly. “It's no big deal, I've done it before.”

“No, no, no,” Bruce shook his head, and really, this seemed to be some kind of light – edition Bruce he didn't get to see very often. “Boy. _Band_ ,” he emphasized. 

“Doctor Banner is trying to say that we want to help you, friend Barton,” Thor offered helpfully, and yeah, Clint got that part. Only he was missing out on the _why_. He frowned at them for awhile longer, but their matching grins didn't go away. 

So he asked “Why?” and Bruce folded his arms and sighed. His expression fell slightly, with the sadness around edges, but his eyes still remained light. 

“It would be fun?” he offered. “I think it would be fun, at least,” he added tentatively and it made Clint pause and wonder the last time was, when Doctor Barton had fun. Karaoke bar kind of fun. 

“So, what do you think?” Steve asked, but there seemed to be a certain “please agree” undertone to his question. And Thor looked mostly like an eager puppy. 

Oh, what the heck, Clint thought. Why the hell not? 

 

*

Everything snowballed from there. Steve missed out on the entire history of rock and pop music, and Thor hand no idea what a band was. He was eager to learn, though. Bruce's boy band knowledge was a bit rusty (it came down to _pretty looking young men singing romantic songs meant for girls_ , plus he might have heard of the Backsteet Boys once. Which meant Bruce had general knowledge, and a nice singing voice, as it turned out.) Clint had a better idea about the topic, but he was acutely aware he needed to research and update his own database. 

And that was what brought him to Darcy Lewis. 

“Come again?” Darcy asked, stuffing the chocolate truffle in her mouth, “You need what?”

Clint grinned sweetly at her. “You can keep a secret Darcy, can you?” he asked. 

“Dude,” she looked around the office a bit indignantly, where she worked ever since Thor happened and SHIELD just found something all of them could work on. “Have you noticed this place, like, at all?”

“I might have,” he said. “That's not what I was referring to, though.”

“No,” she rolled her eyes a little, “you don't want me to rattle to people like Sitwell that you've suddenly became a One Direction fanboy,” she summarized, giving him a bewildered look. “Which, frankly, makes me _worried_ ,” she said. “Nothing wrong with One Direction, but they're more suited for my cousin Stacey who's turning thirteen. Uh. I love this,” she added, enjoying his bribe offering. “Why are you asking about boyband CDs and why do you think I of all people -?”

He shrugged. 

“Not to pass judgment on your musical taste, I thought you might know regardless of what you listened to,” he said.

“Are you complimenting me, Barton? Mind you, if you want me to go out and shop a bunch of Westlife albums for you -”

“Westlife?” he asked. 

“- it's going to cost you more than compliments and one box of... _damn_ fine chocolate,” Darcy licked her finger. “Ugh. I love this. I want more of this. And seriously, you've never heard of Westlife?”

Clint gave her a sweet smile. “I'm obviously in need of education.”

“Why am I agreeing to help you?” Darcy asked. “ _If_ I agree. Mind you, it's not exactly usual for a forty year old guy to listen to Westlife.”

“Let's say I was made an offer I couldn't refuse,” Clint said, stealing one of her chocolates. She glared at him. 

“Not good enough,” she said. “I am starting to worry about your manliness.”

“Manliness being the operating word, Miss Lewis,” Clint said, still smiling sweetly. She caught on instantly. 

“Someone questioned your manliness and that is why you're suddenly trying to find every CD of every boyband ever?” Darcy summarized. “Huh?”

“Not quite,” he said quizzically. It was kind of ridiculous, now when he thought of it, but in his line of work there had to be some ridiculousness and innocent fun and that was why he even bothered. And well. Stark dared to dare him. “A certain billionaire with a goatee seems to think I wouldn't dare expressing appreciation through singing.”

Darcy's mouth dropped a little when she did the math. Smart girl, Darcy Lewis. 

“Oh. My. God,” she said. “Romanoff is going to flip out!” 

Clint made a shushing gesture. “Shhh! She's not supposed to find out!”

“Oooooooh,” Darcy replied, arching her eyebrows. “Planning on impressing her? Good luck with that, because that's going to be _hawkward_.”

Clint grinned and patted her hand. “Don't you worry about me impressing or not impressing anyone. Just …. don't tell anyone and help me, okay?”

Darcy bit her lip and looked at her shiny box of awesome chocolates. Then she nodded. “I get it,” she smiled. “It's all about daring to do it. Count me in, Hawkeye,” she said, grinning impishly. “I am going to make a list consisting of every respectable boyband hit that ever existed.”

 

*

“This is what we're supposed to sing?” Steve asked, frowning slightly at the music video playing in front of him. He honestly didn't get this. 

He was sitting on Clint's couch with Darcy's laptop on his knees. Darcy walked around the room, looking at Clint and then at Bruce who stood behind Steve, leaning with his back against the wall. Thor was sitting next to Steve, all of his attention captured by the video currently playing. 

“I think this might be a good time I use the 'told you so' line,” Clint said, taking a seat in a chair across from Steve and propping his feet up onto the coffee table. He grinned at Bruce. It was slightly frustrating, as if they knew something that should have been obvious, but Steve wasn't able to figure it out. In his opinion there was nothing embarrassing or wrong about the songs Darcy had played for them. 

“Look guys,” Darcy said, taking a seat next to Thor. “There is no dignified way you could pull this one off, which is exactly why Tony did what he did. So if you're not ready to cause some laughs -”

“No, no,” Steve interrupted, scratching his chin, still feeling confused. “I didn't explain myself well.” He looked at Darcy then at Clint. “This is.... nice music. I mean, it's... catchy,” he scratched the back of his head then. “I'm not sure I understand what the challenge is, except for singing?”

“ _Can_ you sing?” Darcy asked. 

“Well, I'm not Bing Crosby -” Steve begun, and started to explain when he saw Clint's confused look. “I mean, back at the orphanage everyone had to sing in a choir, and the Sisters were pretty strict -”

“It's not about singing,” Darcy said. “It's actually about.... target audience.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asked. 

“Well,” she took the laptop from Steve and typed a song title into You Tube's search engine. Then she played a song which was slow and in Steve's opinion nice . The title was “Queen of my heart” which was very romantic, but what was wrong with _romantic_? What was _serious music_ supposed to be like? Clint had a CD of a band called Pink Floyd (and Steve wondered why would someone name a band after pink liquid), with a cow on the cover. Steve remembered when Clint played it and also remembered how confused that kind of music made him feel. _You need to get used to that_ Clint had said then, and started explaining, but Steve didn't quite catch the appeal of certain Rodger Waters. 

“These songs are usually aimed at very young girls and women, talking about romance, true love, and things like that. Which is one of the reasons nobody takes them seriously. Except from teenage girls,” she shot Clint a wry look. He grinned. 

“But what is wrong with _that_?” Steve insisted. Darcy sighed and Clint chuckled. Thor just observed them, as he often did when he encountered a foreign aspect of Midgardian culture. He liked hearing his friend's opinions. “And pardon me saying, but everyone nowadays seems to think love is something unreal. And yet, there's music like this,” Steve frowned. “I don't understand.”

“Except we were all teenagers once,” Bruce said. “And there's the issue of auto tune,” he added. 

“What is that?” Steve asked. 

“Darcy?” Clint grinned. 

“These bands are commercial products,” Darcy continued. “They're created purposefully, by a manager for instance, or a talent hunter. They're supposed to look well and sound easy, romantic and catchy. But often they don't sing too well, so they use specific technology to tune their voices -”

“Ah,” Steve nodded. However it seemed he still didn't understand the entire problem. 

“It's just that nobody takes them seriously. Music critics don't even treat them like musicians,” Darcy said. 

“Don't forget to add that music critics are often snobs,” Bruce sounded amused. “Or those who didn't make it in musical business. So they enjoy taking their frustration out on someone else.”

“It happens,” Darcy said, tight lipped. “Also, serious music is supposed to be... oh I don't know. All guitars and riffs and morose Dylan lyrics -”

“I _didn't_ hear that last part, Darcy,” Clint said.

“Music is supposed to make you happy,” she replied. 

“Music is equally supposed to give you something to think about,” he argued back. Steve watched them, thinking about what they were saying and concluding that both of them were right. “If you want that.”

“I see,” Steve was nodding. “The bands we're discussing are entertainers. But surely, there is no harm in that? And the songs are.... nice?” he shrugged, turning to Clint and Bruce. “I don't see anything problematic about this,” Steve said with a hint of frustration as he looked from Bruce to Clint. 

“Entertaining is a noble undertaking in my world,” Thor added seriously, looking at Steve. “It is considered a gift to be able to bring others joy and happiness.”

“There you go,” Bruce said. “We're going to engage in a noble undertaking and bring everyone else joy and possibly a few laughs. Besides, one can say that the Beatles were a boyband as well.”

“Oh they were,” Clint nodded significantly. 

“Try telling that to Tony next time he walks in singing _Lady Madonna_ ,” Bruce said. 

“Oh I just might,” Clint grinned. 

“I am giving up on you two,” Darcy addressed Steve and Thor. 

“Oh, just let it be, Darcy,” Clint said. “We should concentrate on picking the songs instead.”

“Yeah, that would be very good,” Darcy nodded. “If you want to do this, then you'd better do it right, okay?”

Bruce walked over to Clint and gave him a fist bump. Darcy sighed. Bruce chuckled and Clint folded his hands over his chest contently. Then Thor frowned, pointing at the screen he and Steve were studying. 

“I do not understand, though,” he looked at Darcy hopefully, “What does _Bop Bop Baby_ mean?”

*

It turned out that Steve was very strict about singing, and possibly worse than any Sister from the orphanage he grew up in. Much to the dismay of the others, Steve was the only one among them who knew how to _practice_ singing.

*

 

Two days later, a sound tech called Debra Marshall was asked to do an unusual favor. She didn't mix music very often and she told Dracy Lewis that her seventeen year old daughter who walked around in Nirvana T shirts would probably disown her for even touching a Backstreet Boys CDs. 

Darcy just laughed. 

 

*

The day after that, Darcy gave up on trying to come up with choreography and requested the help of Doctor Perret from weaponry department. He was, after all, a former dancer. 

Subsequently, the entire department had to be properly bribed in order not to spread the story around. 

*

Three days after that, Director Fury summoned Agent Hill to his office.

“Agent Hill,” he greeted, keeping his face calm and impassive. 

“Sir,” Maria Hill responded properly. He was looking at an unusual requisition form (if there was such a thing in this agency. But, they rarely ordered outfits which could be described as boy band stage wear. Fury had three nieces, all in teenage years and he'd seen One Direction posters way too often for his liking). He offered the sheet of paper to Agent Hill, who, to her credit, didn't even bat an eye when she saw what he was studying. (Like she was surprised.)

“I wasn't aware that we put in an order for -,” he frowned at the paper she politely handed back to him, “what seem to be outfits for a _male vocal group_ consisting of four performers?”

“It's for the upcoming Valentine's Day party, Sir,” she replied in soldierly manner. Completely serious. Just like he taught her. 

“Hmmm,” he said. “I see. One of these outfits seems to be ordered for someone who is exceptionally tall?”

“Yes, Sir,” Agent Hill replied. 

“And there's an order for a hat and sleeveless shirt? Interesting,” he commented. 

“Yes, Sir,” Hill said, still being serious like this was a mission report. (In their field of work being silly from time to time was more serious than most people could even imagine.)

“I wasn't aware we agreed to supply clothes for the performers,” he continued, fully aware that there weren't any performers invited from “outside”. 

“Sir, these were financed from the Prank Fund,” Hill said smoothly. 

“Prank Fund, you say?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Who is being pranked?” he asked, deciding to rethink his decision of not going to this year's party. 

“That would be Mr. Stark, Sir. If I'm correct,” she added and a corner of her lip tilted up just a little bit. 

Fury left the requisition form on his desk and leaned comfortably into his chair. His big, ridiculously comfortable, awesome chair he got as a present from his eldest daughter. He met Hill's eye and stroked his chin. 

“You're usually correct,” he said. 

“I was told that Barton is involved,” she informed him with just a slight tilt of her head. Ah, it all made sense now. 

“Oh, well, now that makes matters much more interesting. Tell me, Hill, do we still have to sign up for attendance?” he asked, leaning forward to show his interest. 

“Yes, Sir,” she openly grinned now. “The amount of drinks we're going to order depends on that, after all.”

“Well, Agent Hill, you can sign me up,” Fury decided contently and glanced at the calendar. “If it's not too much of a bother.”

“No, Sir,” she said, still grinning. “I'll be happy to do it.”

He might just count down to this year's party, which was something that hadn't happened in years, and if he was honest, he missed the days when he had been just an agent and enjoyed the organization's shenanigans on regular basis. 

*

The day after that there was a betting pool (anyone well informed knew that Agent Coulson was responsible for it.), which was how the entire scheme finally caught Natasha's attention. 

*

SHIELD was a good place to keep secrets, but at the same time, people who worked there were really really good at finding out those secrets. It was only a matter of time until Natasha heard about Stark challenging Clint into impressing her in public. Frustratingly, that seemed to be the most information she was able to pull out of anyone who might have known something about it. 

Including Darcy. 

Natasha wasn't amused. In fact, it was kind of frustrating because Darcy usually told her things, and not because Natasha bribed or tricked her or anything like that. Darcy told her things because she enjoyed sharing them with Natasha, but in this case she was tight lipped just as everyone else (which meant the whole weaponry department, science lab, several people from logistics, Maria Hill, Coulson and heck even Director Fury himself.)

It was a massive conspiracy, mind you. She wondered how many people Clint had to bribe to convince them to keep their mouths closed. It was downright impressive, in fact. 

Nevermind, she thought as she looked through her underwear drawer, picking out the good things with lots of lace. There were ways to make Clint spill his secrets. 

 

*

 

Clint was fine with being quiet for the time being. Seriously, this was not his best idea, but now there was no chance in hell he would back off. Bruce proved to be a vocal drill sergeant (“Nobody will be accusing us of using auto tune”), Darcy picked all the songs except for one that Clint chose (“That one goes at the end”), Marshall from the tech lab made a mash up of upbeat songs they would sing, and even Thor could do their _simple yet deceptively cute choreography_ , as Darcy called it. 

Clint's throat was protesting right now and he enjoyed not having to talk or do anything for that matter, except stay here, braced against the shower wall as the hot water cascaded down his tired shoulders. 

Except the door to his bathroom opened and someone walked in. One specific person. Natasha. 

“There you are,” she said. He didn't say anything, he just grunted, and even that didn't feel good. He needed something for that throat, damn it. He craned his neck and could see her through the steam and the water, standing near the door in her robe, with hands crossed over her chest. “What is this rumor I heard?” she asked. 

“Huh?” he replied, because he had to reply in some form or fashion. She moved and started to untie and part the robe she was wearing, and not surprisingly, she wore only panties underneath. He grinned inwardly thinking how she crossed the hall between her apartment and his dressed in only her robe, slippers and panties. He turned in time to watch her drop the robe onto the floor. 

“Rumor. About your and Stark's bet of some sort,” she explained. “The entire science lab is talking about it, the entire weaponry department -” she pushed her panties past her hips and he watched, because he couldn't not watch. Then she was inside and next to him, naked, wet and aiming this amusedly disapproving look at him. “And it's about me?” she asked. 

Clint shrugged and trailed his fingers along her hands. “Nuh – huh,” she replied. “Tell me what's going on.”

“Stark made me an offer I couldn't refuse,” he said, voice not as hoarse as he might have expected it. Natasha rolled her eyes. 

“Lame movie reference is lame,” she said, crossing her arms again, which held her boobs up. Clint's eyes dropped there. 

“Godfather is never lame,” he protested. “Nor is this,” he pulled her closer and she allowed it, dropping her hands, so they were pressed chest to chest. “Hello, gorgeous. You're a sight for sore eyes.”

“And you're ridiculous. What is Stark making you do?” she asked, a tiny bit wary.

“Impress you,” he said. “Apparently I'm unable to do that.”

“Impress me, how?” she asked. 

“Ah no, darling, I am not telling,” he shook his head lightly. 

“Clint -”

“Hmmm?” he asked, beginning to kiss her. 

“- are you seriously going to do something Stark challenged you to?”

He nuzzled her cheek, feeling really content and warm all over, with her hands slowly sliding up his arms. He really didn't give a damn about Stark any more.

“Clint?” she poked his shoulder but returned his kiss. 

“Mhmmm?”

“What are you... doing?”

“What does it look like, doll?” he asked on purpose and she swatted his shoulder, only to pull him back to her. 

“Are you embarrassing yourself?” she asked. 

He made a face. A ridiculous, over the top thoughtful face which made her laugh. 

“Are you going to embarrass me?”

“Would never dream of it,” he said, pulling her to him again and this time she generously opened her mouth beneath his. They kissed and pressed against each other. All of this was honestly headed in one direction, but Clint didn't mind at all. He palmed her breasts and she moaned, sliding her hands along his sides. Her hands stayed near his hips and she looked down at his body. 

“You lost weight,” she observed, and she was probably right. He had exhausting schedule lately, and hadn’t had time to eat properly way too often, and it showed. Natasha's hand pinched his side and poked his belly. Then she gave him a worried look. “You must eat better.”

“I know, I know,” he nodded, smiling, because this was his caring Natasha. 

“Don't give me that. I expect you to eat regular meals starting tomorrow,” she insisted and he smiled. 

“Anything you want, babe.”

She smacked him again, just as he knew she would. “You're going to do it for yourself and your health. You're an agent, not a model,” she said and he kissed her again, warmly, because this was the genuine her. More caring and kinder than most people were aware or could even imagine. She kissed back and her hands slid up along his chest and around his neck. She was warm and naked against him and all he wanted was to leave the shower and take her to bed. “Besides -” she moved and gave him a slightly impish smirk. “I like you when you're soft. In places.”

“Which places?” he asked, his hands sliding down her back and pressing her lower body to him. There were very hard places on him. She rolled her eyes at him and shook her head. 

“Never was a fan of washboard stomachs,” she said, moving close to lick along his collar bone and moving against him in a way he really, really enjoyed. “I like the way you are,” she kissed his chin and his nose and finally tugged his lower lip. “Mature and manly,” she said. 

“Oh, I'm manly?” he asked, pleased, because they didn't talk like this too often. “And what do you mean by mature?”

“I had good wine in mind,” she grinned and he felt so ridiculously flattered. “Also.” A few more kisses followed. “Nice and manly,” she nodded. “And just right.”

“You're killing me, doll,” he said, kissing her in a way that let her know just what he wanted to do. 

“Why aren't you taking me to bed, then?” she asked. “I want to do things to that glorious body of yours.”

He picked her up and she shrieked, then started laughing. He felt it was okay to do so. 

“Oh I am taking you to bed, baby,” he promised. “Soft?” he pretended to glare as he carried her. She smirked, arms about his neck. 

“I am not going to live that one down, right?” she asked. 

“Oh no, sweetheart. We are going to discuss this,” he spoke as he carried her, not giving a damn about the wet trail they were leaving in their wake. Then he dumped her on the big, soft bed and they both laughed. “Stay there,” he said and went to retrieve towels, so they could at least dry up a little. He rubbed his hair the best he could, kneeling naked on the bed in front of her. She tossed her towel aside and moved to sit in front of him, her face and mouth so very close to his stomach and crotch. His dick twitched and his muscles jumped when she pulled him close to her and started to kiss from the juncture of his thigh up and towards his navel, and all across his belly. It was – it was – oh God, it was. He was sensitive there, nearly ticklish but the way she did this, eyes closed and a smile playing on her lips, it kept him right there with her, watching her the entire time. 

“I thoroughly approve this part of your body just the way it is,” she said, looking up at him. He was about to retort something when she grabbed his dick, gently, and pulled him into her mouth. 

“Oh – okay, you've convinced me, darling,” he said, hand sliding into her hair as she started to set up a rhythm. This was even better, of course, his hands in her hair, both of them moving to her gentle, maddening rhythm. He found very soon that he couldn't keep his eyes open, he had to close them and lose himself in the feeling of her perfect, hot mouth on him. 

“Lay down,” she said then, and he did, spreading his legs to give her room, She caressed his thighs, kissed his knee (the one he injured a couple of years ago and it was bad and doctors even thought his leg wouldn't ever be good); she rarely _didn't_ kiss that knee. She appreciated his body and him and he knew it. There were times when he feared he was too worn out, too old, but her soul matched his scars. “I like you so much like this,” she said, parting his legs further, in a way he wouldn't allow just anyone. And there she was again, her hot mouth on him and he hissed when she started sucking him again. She was so good at this, so so very good, and even though his hand was in her hair, pushing her gently as he fucked her pretty mouth, she had him in her hands. She sucked him until he started losing himself again, eyes closed and words spilling freely from him. That was when she stopped and he woefully moaned, but then he realized she was moving above him, to straddle his hips and ride him. “Complaining, much?” she asked, lowering herself onto him, and fuck, she was soaking wet and tight and just _yes_. 

“Oh, no sweetheart,” he said and moaned when she rolled her hips. “Never.”

“You better don't,” she teased, repeating that movement and he really, really needed her to keep up with that. “That good?”

“Oh, God, yes,” he said, taking a hold of her hips and starting to thrust into her. “Come here,” he said and she lowered herself over him, so he could touch, palm her breasts and take them in his mouth and make her moan in that really undignified way he loved. She tugged his hair, making him lay back down so she could kiss him, hard and dirty as he dug his fingers into her soft, soft butt and fucked her. 

He registered how she looked, flushed face and open mouth, he fucking _loved_ when he got her there, made her drop her control and let go. He was so close, so he slipped behind his eyelids, wrapped in the sounds she was making and then he was coming and coming and just held her, trying to melt into her in this perfect moment. Then, the tension passed, his arms loosened, and the post sex haze started to take over. Natasha was breathing hard above him, and he just held her there, close and soft and warm. 

“Wow,” she said, her fingers stroking him. 

“Wow indeed, darling,” he agreed. 

“That was pretty impressive,” she commented, pressing a kiss onto his shoulder. “Very impressive.”

“Glad you approve,” he smiled contentedly into her hair. 

“Which answers your question,” she continued lazily. 

“There was a question?”

“The one in your head,” she said lightly. “I know when there's a question.”

“And what was the question?” he asked, now looking at her. 

“If you can impress me,” she stated. 

He frowned a bit. It took him longer than usual because his brain was so wonderfully hazy and empty and recently fucked. 

“Ah, no, no, no,” he grinned. “Nice try, though.”

“What?”

“We are not going to talk about it,” he said. 

“About what?” she attempted. 

He looked at her, fondly, but shook his head. “I am not telling you what I'm doing or when,” he tickled her and she giggled. It was a perfect moment to use to his advantage so he flipped them over. “Besides we are not done here,” he said. 

“We're not?” she asked. 

“Oh, hell no,” he said, spreading her legs and moving down her body. 

Her giggles soon became moans and Clint was so very okay with that. 

*

Darcy stood on her toes and straightened Thor's white bow tie. He was cute; in fact they were all cute, dressed up like this. No, they were her work of freaking art, she thought. 

“Happy?” Bruce asked her, tipping a fancy looking hat and she nodded approvingly. This had been a helluva job, she thought. Pepper had helped her a little bit because she knew where to get stuff (and Oh My God, if Tony only knew Pepper was on Team Clint, but then she probably wanted to see him dance the Macarena. _Everyone_ did. Stark stood no chance.), but Darcy was the one who did the picking. They were dressed in a combination of black and white (and seriously, they would give any boy band run for their money) – Thor wore black pants and a button down shirt, with a white bow tie and badass white longcoat a la Kevin Richardson. Only he was better looking than Kevin, obviously. And had less eyebrows, thank God. Steve was similarly dressed, but his pants and shirt were white, along with a black bow tie and black suspenders. And he had no coat. One badass longcoat was enough. Pepper decided he was The Heartthrob. It Made him The Face Of The Band by default. Clint protested until both Pepper and Darcy decided he should be The Bad Boy of the band. Fake tattoo on his left arm and all. Thor got the title of The Older Brother and Bruce just had to be The Shy Guy (he was nerdier than the rest of the band, obviously, and Nerds Were Sexy.) 

“Extremely,” she said and took the hat from Bruce, to put it on Clint's head. There. The two of them were dressed in similar sleeveless shirt and wide trousers, only Bruce's outfit was white while Clint's was black. “Sorry, but next time when we do the Bruce and the Angry Birds show -” 

“Oh that's _funny_ ,” Bruce said. Darcy narrowed her eyes at him.

“I can be very funny,” she said, straightening his shirt at the shoulders. “Here you go, Doctor Beat. You look awesome.”

“So, if we are the band, does that make you The Intimidating Manager Figure?” Bruce asked. 

“You betcha. Now, time to get out there and break hearts,” Darcy decided. They were huddled in the small space between the bar and the restrooms, and every time someone passed them there were at least whistles. (Jane was obviously doing a good job of keeping Natasha away from here, Darcy thought. It was best if the got going before the entire jig was up or someone just ran their mouth). “Now, shoo, I'll go and tell Debra to get that tape ready. And Thor? Don't trip over Bruce, please.”

“You can count on me, Lady Darcy,” he said, and she grinned, making her way into the bar. 

It was a good place. She didn't really know what to expect but it seemed that people working for SHIELD had some taste after all. The bar was a pub type of place, with lots of room and lovely furniture and a big damn stage. It was full of people she worked with; only they didn't look like them. They looked remarkably normal or even silly, and was that Agent Sitwell with a collection of lipstick marks on his cheeks? _And_ his shirt collar?

“Darcy,” he said as he spotted her and walked over. “I got the short straw this year,” he explained when he saw how she was looking at him, turning a cheek to her.

“You did what?”

“I'm the kissing mark this year,” he offered, pointing at his own face. “It means anyone is allowed to kiss me at any time. And I'm not allowed to wash it until the party is over.”

“Kissing- what? Oh you people are _nuts_ ,” she said, leaned in and planted a cherry red kiss in the middle of his cheek. 

“May it never be said we don't know how to have fun,” Sitwell answered, just in time for them to turn to the stage. The karaoke show was ready, but not before the opening act. Darcy took a deep breath realizing _she_ was nervous. Coulson walked out, wearing a Hawaiian shirt with pink flowers and holding a matching pink drink with an umbrella. And he had his shades on. Did that man go anywhere without those shades??

“Oh my God,” Darcy said. “I don't believe this.”

“Different color every year,” Sitwell told her. 

“Seriously?”

Sitwell nodded. “See the Director?” he pointed at Fury in the crowd. “Every time he decides to come someone gets him a ridiculous looking eyepatch. Which he has to wear. Nobody gets spared,” Sitwell winked. 

“That's damn good eyepatch choice,” Darcy said, realizing that Fury sported a leopard pattern eyepatch instead of his usual intimidating black. “Do you think asking for a matching coat would be pushing?”

“A little bit,” Sitwell laughed. “But wait 'till you hear him sing.”

“He _sings_? You mean he knows how to have fun? Oh I think I like you people better already. Much much better,” she said. Sitwell waved at a waiter who brought a tray with colorful cocktails, and Darcy picked something green and frilly looking. 

On the stage Coulson tapped the microphone. Everyone quieted and turned to look at him. Darcy looked around the room and finally managed to spot Natasha, sitting at a table with Jane and -wait a minute, was that person in a tight red dress Maria Hill? They were sitting to the right of the stage, and also deliberately close. Darcy wondered who picked the table. 

“Hey everyone,” Coulson greeted. _Off with the glasses, Horatio!_ someone shouted from the back of the room and there was laughter. Coulson took off his shades and grinned. “We're about to get this party started,” he paused and there was cheesy cheering and whistling, “but before we do that, we've got some special guests tonight,” he said and there were _ooohs_ and _aaahs_. Darcy glanced at Natasha, her expression somewhere between neutral and slightly confused. Tony and Pepper appeared and sat down with them. Darcy bit her lip, realizing how hard her heart was beating. “Let's hear it for these fine, ahem, boys,” Coulson turned to his left and _ohmygod_ there they were. Steve entered the stage, then Clint with the hat covering half of his face and looking so damn _good_ , it would make A.J. MacLean burst with envy. Bruce followed Clint, with a bounce in his step and then out came Thor, walking so proudly, one might think he was headed into glorious battle. 

The place exploded. People were _screaming_ , they were shouting and cheering and getting up from their chairs to clap their hands and whistle. Someone flung a black and red bra towards the stage and Bruce caught it, lifting it above his head. Darcy was laughing, oh God, _everyone_ was laughing and it seemed it would never stop. Coulson lifted his hand and the noise gradually quieted. Darcy glanced at Natasha again, and saw a comical mix of disbelief and amusement on her face. Next to her Maria was wolf whistling, and seriously, this was so much better than Darcy ever hoped for. 

She took a deep breath and hoped the boys wouldn't muck it up. 

“Okay, okay, ladies, calm down,” Coulson said. “It's okay! The boys will be all yours in just a moment,” he said and left the stage. When the cheering quieted, the four of them gathered around one microphone. Steve took it. Face Of The Band, indeed. 

“Hi everyone,” he looked more comfortable on stage than Darcy expected he would, but then, he had experience with this sort of thing, didn't he? She wondered if any of his shows were ever recorded back in 1940s. “We're Barton and The Chicks,” he said, clapping Clint on the back. “Erm, this is Barton and we're The Chicks,” he explained and even Darcy was cheering now. Oh God, she felt so proud. “And we're here with a special mission,” he looked at Bruce, who took a different microphone. 

“Yes, we're basically delivering a Valentine's Day card,” Bruce said and looked at Clint, handing him the microphone. Darcy held her breath. Then she looked at Natasha, heck, half of the room was looking at her. 

“Hi folks,” Clint said and his face finally came to view. The room erupted again, and Clint waved at everyone to quiet down. “Yeah, yeah, okay, thank you. We like you right back,” he smiled brightly, and man, he looked like he wasn't nervous _at all_. Darcy realized he was completely capable of pulling this off. “Anyway. I'm here because of one special lady and my fellow Chicks here decided they'd back me up on this. So. Is Natasha Romanoff in the bar?”

“Over heeeree,” Maria called waving her hands around, and cheering followed. Natasha put her palms on her cheeks. Her face still appeared calm, but her eyes were pretty telling. 

“Ah, _there_ you are,” Clint took off his hat briefly and bowed. “This is for you, gorgeous,” he added with a smile. The hat was back on his head, then the music started and Darcy just held her breath. 

 

It turned out awesome. No, it was better than awesome. Their dancing was hopeless, because Thor had no sense of rhythm, the rest of them were out of sync and Clint just jumped a lot, but that was fine. Their singing was _good_. “Call Me Maybe” got everyone on their feet instantly, ladies apparently came prepared to sing along, Clint sat down on the stage when “A Million Love Songs” came up. Natasha's expression was hard to describe during that one, but Darcy saw her biting her lip when Clint took off his hat and gestured towards her with it. “Flying Without Wings” left everyone quiet and actually listening. At the end the cheering was sincere and everyone was clapping enthusiastically as Natasha climbed onto the stage, grabbed Clint's cheeks and kissed him. 

In Darcy's opinion? 

The evening was an absolute win already. 

 

*

Tony Stark didn't enjoy losing. Not even a bet. Technically this wasn't a bet, but rather some kind of dare deal. He flashed a sour smirk when Barton asked “Where's Stark?” into the microphone, just after Romanoff kissed him in front of entire SHIELD. (Well, not like they weren't a matter of public knowledge, but they usually didn't put on a show. Except in missions. That matter was still a sore spot for him, and he didn't like the name Natalie as much as he used to, but. He had a job to do, didn't he?) 

Tony got up, straightened his tie (he wore a fancy one because he felt like being obnoxiously overdressed) and walked to the stage. 

“Here I am, Mighty Chicken,” he said, as the crowd cheered. 

“Ready to shake those hips?” Barton asked and Tony spread his hands. 

“Put me to work,” he said elegantly. There were wolf whistles in the audience. Tony turned to them, bowing his head, keeping his expression regal and intact. Heck, he'd done far more ridiculous things in public than just one dance. 

“What's this about?” Romanoff asked. 

“I am keeping my part of the deal, Tsarina, which means I'm going to grace you all with my amazing dancing skills. Now where's my theme song?”

“In a minute,” Barton said, waving at whoever played the music. “Guys?” he looked at The Chicks. Really, what a fitting name. 

“We are ready, Friend Barton,” Thor said and before Tony was able to open his mouth and ask what the heck they were up to, the music assaulted his ears. 

“Hey everyone,” Barton yelled into the microphone. “Let's dance!!”

Things got slightly out of control. Banner pushed him and Barton to the front of the stage. Tony didn't remember much of the Macarena, except for the butt waving, but it seemed that Barton had done his homework well. Tony just repeated after him; hands in front, hands on the back of the head, hands on ass, and then sway your hips. Rogers was _dancing_ on Tony's left and he wasn't doing half bad at this, and the crowd was just hysterical. 

Tony had absolutely no problem with any of this - he was happy to entertain, after all. 

After that everything became blurry, considering how much alcohol was around. Tony wasn't sure if SHIELD just booked the place for the day or actually owned the bar, but it was pretty clear why there were extra drinks ordered and brought for the occasion (because if they weren't? This bar would have nothing to offer the next day). 

So, there was a) drinking, b) hilarity, c) more singing and d) everyone chasing after Sitwell, trying to kiss him. Fury knocked everyone off their feet with “Sitting on the dock of the bay” (truly, that man could sing _like a boss_ ). Barton got pretty drunk, heck even Rogers got drunk (Stark had to ask Hill later how she got him drunk. He doubted she would give up on that piece of intel easily, but he could always issue another dare.) 

He might have not won the dare, but boy, he would enjoy poking fun at his hungover dancing buddies over breakfast.

 

*

Clint didn't get drunk very often, but when he did, it was a special occasion all in itself because he was absolutely _hilarious_ drunk person. 

“Do you know you have pretty knees? Your knees turn me on,” he was saying as Natasha steered him in the direction of her apartment (it was closer, besides she had no heart to let him sleep alone when he was like this. Even though he smelled like a distillery.)

“Are you sure you can tell my knees from my elbows?” she leaned him next to the door. “Stay there.”

He gave her a silly, drunken grin. “Yes, ma'am. I love your elbows too, you know.”

“Of course you do,” she answered, amused. “You love pretty much everyone now.”

“I don't love Stark,” he pouted. 

“Thank God you still have some standards,” she wrapped her arm around his waist and started to steer him into her apartment. He was heavy. And slightly uncoordinated. And he was being a cuddlemonster when he was drunk, which didn't make walking any easier. “Easy with the hands, Sinatra.”

“Hrmph,” he protested. She didn't bother with the shoes or anything else, and she deliberatly dropped her coat somewhere on the way to bedroom. When she assured Clint was safely sitting, she toed of her high heels and sighed. As pretty as they were, those things were ultimately torture devices. 

Clint swayed forward on the bed and she promptly steadied him. “Easy there,” she said. He chuckled and planted his face into her stomach. Okay, she could let him get away with that now, because he wasn't going anywhere further than that bed. 

“You so soft, Tasha,” his hands found the backs of her thighs and ran upward, then he pulled her closer. She smiled and dropped her hand into his hair. “Soft and wonderful,” he mumbled against her and pinched her ass. 

“Ouch,” she protested. “You'll have to move a bit, sweetheart. We have to get you out of that coat,” he was looking at her mournfully when she separated him from herself. “We'll cuddle in a moment, you can't stay dressed.”

“Naked cuddling?” he smiled. 

“Not in the way you think, mister,” she managed to get the coat off his shoulders and started to push lower. He was absolutely unhelpful, so she had to lean over him, and he tried to hug her again. “Patience,” she said. 

“I was singing for you,” he said. 

“That you were,” Natasha agreed, getting rid of the coat. 

“I don't get to cuddle with you?” 

“Oh you do,” Natasha allowed him to slump against her again. “Cuddle and then sleep,” she took his face between her hands, and feeling fondness fill her chest she leaned down and kissed him, slowly and softly. 

“Baby can I hold you tonight?” it was a rather bad attempt to sing but Natasha found herself smiling. Still she teased, “You listened to that stuff way too much, I'm fearing for your musical taste.”

“'Tis not bad at all,” he argued, when she did her best to steady him, so she could take off his shirt. “'tis soft. And romantic,” he explained as she knelt in front of him. “You like soft.”

She paused, hands on his shoe. “You said you like my soft -,” he poked his stomach. Natasha smiled as she took off his shoe and rubbed his foot. He had socks but she could feel how cold his toes were. 

“I do,” she said quietly. “It's very nice looking,” she added, smiling at him, finding it hard not to. With the other shoe out of the way, she rubbed his other foot and watched him give her a full blown, drunken smile. 

“That's nice,” he said. “Thank you,” he added and tried to lean down to kiss her. Natasha had to catch him and prevent him from falling over. He let her push him down to bed and stayed mostly silent while she took off his pants and his socks. “Am cold,” he complained. “C'mere baby,” he says, even half asleep like that. 

Natasha lets herself look at him, all of him – drunk and tired, wearing only his boxers. One could say there was nothing obviously remarkable about the man on her bed, but her chest ached at the sight. She pulled her dress over her head and tossed it, then she climbed on the bed and pulled him close. He rolled over, almost crushing her and she smiled. Then she covered them both, tangling one of her legs between his and saw how he smiled, even though his eyes were closed. 

“Bop Bop Baby,” he whispered, nuzzling her chest. 

A chuckle turned into a sigh inside her chest as she cradled the back of his head. What he did tonight was embarrassing and hilarious, she supposed, but she couldn't feel anything but this incredible warmth that caused prickly feeling in her eyes every time she thought about the show he put on. His arms were cold, but his chest was hot against her body. She rubbed his shoulder and he hugged her closer. 

“What does that mean, anyway?” she placed a soft kiss on his forehead and he opened his eyes. 

“No idea,” he said and grinned and she just pulled him closer, letting herself drift off to sleep.


End file.
